ONLYFIVEMORE: Quick note, for those that don't realise; I've deleted the author's note from way back when, so all the chapters are now lined up perfectly, meaning basically that chapter 31 is now under chapter 31, and not chapter 32. So if you haven't actually read chapter 32, you might wanna go back and make sure.

Chapter 33

Tristan showed up at lunch hour again, asking Howard how he was feeling, and the man waved off her concerns with a smile. Really, Howard felt better than he had in many years. He attributed that mostly to the fact that he'd zapped Graham into unconsciousness that night; something he'd yearned to do for a long time.

And Vince had shown up at the Lodge that morning, sweaty and exhausted, but grinning and going on endlessly about his grand adventure with Fossil. Seems the two really had hit it off, and on his way to their bench Howard had spotted Vince dancing about crazily with Fossil through the man's office window to blaring rock music. Howard's initial thought was to go in there and get the kid away from that creep, but he restrained himself. Fossil made no perverse advances on the kid, and the two were really just hopping about in his office, not even touching. Howard supposed he'd let it slide, for now. At least if he was with Fossil, the kid wasn't hanging around Naboo. The lesser of two evils, and all that.

Tristan now sat in Vince's spot, and the two ate in companionable silence. Occasionally the woman would again ask Howard if he were alright, and Howard would laugh and reassure her. Honestly, he'd expected to be a bit more...emotional about this whole 'near-death-experience' thing; but really he felt just the same as ever. His right arm twinged a bit in the cold weather, but that was the extent of his lasting damage. He idly wondered if Vince's hip still ached him in the winter.

Tristan asked if he'd like to go out again that weekend, and Howard very gently declined. He just...really didn't like the thought of either himself or Vince being alone in the Lodge anymore. He wasn't sure why; maybe this was the emotional trauma the doctors had told him he might experience. Ah well, it wasn't so bad, Howard supposed. Tristan seemed to understand, patting his hand as they enjoyed his free time.

That afternoon as the hour grew late, Howard found himself leaving the hut in search for Vince. Maybe those doctors had been onto something after all; Howard had spent nearly two hours in there on his own waiting for the kid to come through the front door, and he'd eventually found it hard to breathe.

Rubbing his hand across his forehead as he called out the boy's name, Howard found it slick with sweat. He rounded a corner, and caught movement from the corner of his eye. It wasn't so much that it was movement. There was movement all around him, in the cages as animals burrowed into their beds for the night. No, this was movement where it shouldn't have been. Right in the back of Bollo's exhibit.

Stepping up to the bars, Howard grasped them loosely in his hands as he looked down on Vince, who was sitting against the back wall, knees pulled up and face hidden by his folded arms. Howard made certain to keep his voice soft, not wanting to startle the kid.

"Hey, Little Man. What, uh, what are you doing in there? It's night time, you know. Got to get some sleep."

Vince didn't verbally answer, but he did lift his head slightly, Howard catching the glint of his eyes through the shadows. Howard counted it as a good sign that the boy hadn't just ignored him like he sometimes did. Slowly the man crouched down onto his knees, slipping an arm through the bars, reaching out toward Vince with a beckoning gesture.

"Hey, why don't you come over here where we can talk, hmm?"

Vince just stared at him for a minute, but slowly the boy uncurled and pushed himself forward, still sitting on the leafy ground of the exhibit. He reached the bars, sitting himself in front of Howard, hands coming to grip the bars as his legs slid through to stretch out on either side of the older man. Vince was looking down at his hands, and Howard was about to question if he were alright when the boy spoke first, voice near a whisper.

"Sorry, Howard."

"What for?"

"For not bein' there, y'know...when Bollo killed you. I...you're always savin' me, Howard. And...the one time I coulda been there...Bollo never would've attacked you had I been there-"

"Now Vince, you don't know that-"

"Oh come on, Howard. You saw him; he stayed an entire night in the hut with you an' he never so much as growled. It's 'cause I was there..."

Vince sighed through his nose, still not looking Howard in the face, breath ghosting over them in the dropping temperature of the night air. Howard subconsciously pressed a bit closer to the bars, trying to somehow warm them both. Vince's voice rose a pitch as he continued, tone unsteady.

"I just wish, for once, that it was me who was, y'know, the hero. Like, that I could be the one to do the savin' for a change. Kept dreamin' of it, while I was up at Leroy's...tha's where I went to, by the way. Walked all the way to 'is house that day; I jus' couldn't go back, not yet. I kept imagining comin' into the hut, and rescuin' you from Bollo. Every night, though, I kept havin' this really weird dream. I dreamt that you'd died, and I was askin' Naboo to bring you back. It was strange, I can 'ardly remember it; all I can really remember is...my face. Seein' my own face, everywhere..."

Howard was now reaching through the bars and running a hand over the boy's head, settling on the back of his neck. Vince closed his eyes at this and sighed again, going silent. After a minute Howard stood up, stepping away from the enclosure.

"Come on now, time to go and get ready for bed."

The boy was once again huddled up next to him in their sleeping bags, and Howard found himself pressing back in the cold of the Lodge air. He really should get around to fixing all the cracks in the walls and roof. The old place was really starting to fall apart.

"Tell us a story, Howard. Not another zoo story, but a different one. A good one."

The boy's voice whispered out in the darkness, and Howard let his sleep-fogged mind float about, loosely constructing a tale for the kid.

"...There once was a great jazz musician-"

He heard Vince groan beside him, but the boy pressed his face into Howard's shoulder, and the man could tell he was grinning, so continued on.

"A great jazz musician by the name of...Jimmy Jefferson. Howlin' Jimmy Jefferson, he was called. And he lived in the heart of Louisiana, where true jazz was born. He floated about through the swamps on a little raft, and played his trumpet for all to hear. One day, though, he became incredibly ill, and died. But before he died, he performed a voodoo ritual, ingraining his soul into a vinyl of his best songs. And so now his soul is encased within the record, and whoever plays it is cast under his spell. He can possess them, and use them to continue playing his music, which he can't live without, even in death."

"...Tha' was a good story, Howard..."

Howard let out a whispered laugh at this, the boy's tone as he spoke made it clear he was already half-alseep. Soon loud snores sounded in the man's ears, but Howard was beyond accustomed to it by now, and drifted off peacefully soon after.

Howard sat poised over pen and paper, various lines written out haphazardly, only to be drawn through in thick ink soon after. The man had turned down two gigs since he'd gotten out of hospital, and apparently in the eyes of the musical industry that was a way of saying Howard thought himself too good for small-time setups; he didn't, really! He'd just wanted a break from all of that for a while. But just the day before he'd received a call with an invitation to perform a piano piece at a well-known theatre in three weeks. This was quite a big deal, and Howard had agreed after much stuttering. He was incredibly happy, but also very nervous. This wasn't a restaurant or club, where people come to eat and chat, and your music was just background noise. People paid money and came to sit down and observe you; actually listen closely to what you sang or played.

Howard cleared his throat, clearing his mind and focusing again on his task. Luckily he didn't have to sing for this performance, just play a bit on the piano, but Howard wanted to start writing his own lyrics. He couldn't rely on the boy's weird mind for all of the songs he sang. It felt quite like cheating, or something.

Looking down on the floor, Howard watched the kid for a minute. Vince was currently laying down across his and Howards' sleeping bags, book open and resting on his chest as he twirled his pencil between his fingers. He was staring up absently at the ceiling and singing lightly.

"...With your see-through scorpion underbelly and your tiny little claws..."

How the boy could just spout words like that always left Howard mystified. He supposed everyone had their gifts, but he would truly never understand this one.

"...Hammering away at the pigeon's eyebrow..."

The boy seemed to think it was time to stop singing, and rolled over slowly onto his stomach, book falling underneath him. He pulled the book from underneath him, and Howard had just a second to make out an eye from the overly-scribbled drawing before the boy was stooping over it, his jacket acting as a drape to hide the book away. Vince stared down at the book, picking up his green pencil once again and stabbing lightly onto the unseen page below him.

After a few minutes the kid deemed this enough and closed the book, standing up and placing it back into his dresser drawer. He then moved over to the sofa and flopped down next to Howard. He leaned slightly over to get a look at the newest words Howard had down. Howard happily let the boy see his one-liners, feeling very good about some of them.

The boy's face scrunched up as he read out the lyrics.

"'I've searched so long, traveled every single road, turned over every stone, but now I'm lost and I'm alone'...You can't be serious."

The man shot the teen an outraged look, Vince returning it with one of his own.

"What do you mean!? I think it's quite-"

"It's rubbish, Howard! It's not only depressin' as fuck, but it's boring."

Vince grabbed the piece of paper from Howard's grasp, reading over the shot-through lines as well before giving a laugh that sounded as though he were in pain. He crumpled it up and threw it across the room. Howard sent him a glare and the two sat in silence before the man got an idea. He began scribbling quickly, leaning away when the boy tried to peek. That got the bugger's attention, and Vince was shifting impatiently, obviously expecting something brilliant.

Howard gave the kid a smirk as he showed him the notepad, fresh paper marred with a hasty line. Vince leaned in close to read it, brows drawn slightly in curiosity.

"'He's so bright, milky white, shining down upon the groun'- Oh fuck off, Howard!"

The older man laughed as Vince launched himself off the couch and down onto the gathered blankets with a dramatic groan. He glared up at the man, but it soon dissolved into laughter of his own. The teen then turned onto his back, returning to his staring up at the ceiling, humming lowly, occasionally throwing in words.

"...Climbing up your head as if it were an elaborate child's climbing frame..."

(You know...*sits forward* there are only five chapters left *suggestive smile* which means only five more chances to *raises eyebrow* review.)